Blood Bath and Beyond

I get a coupon for 20% off any single item at a large, and particularly odiferous, chain store about every third day. It's one of those "big box" stores that hangs product from floor to twenty-five foot ceiling. I suppose they want to give a "well stocked" impression. I tend to simply reel at the volume of crap they can cram into a given space.

And the smell. It's like a Yankee Candle potpourri nose enema. I lose my peripheral vision for a minute or two trying to adjust to the reek. My wife once bought a box of Whoppers from this establishment and we had to throw them out. Whatever trace of chocolate and malted milk remained was just too weak to stand up to the smell. Even if you don't buy a thing, the stench clings to your clothes and catches a ride home with you.

Yeah, I love to hate this place. That's why I never pass up the occasional crapalog they send me. It's like a down-market SkyMall and I eat it up. Imagine my delight when, and I'm not making this up, immediately adjacent to a wine-making kit, they advertise the $15 breathalyzer. I hope that's a clock on the display- if your BAL is 1.05 you're gonna wish you sprung for the $45 keychain breathalyzer. That one texts your next-of-kin when you exceed .99. And it's December. So in an increasingly unfortunate series of decisions, someone decided that a keychain breathalyzer was a corking idea, some marketing mensa singled it out for holiday giving, and in a flash of true inspiration, the catalog genius made the obvious link with the wine making kit. "Everything for the wino motorist on your list."

The kicker? It's "For Entertainment Purposes Only." Entertainment!? Let me tell you, after a couple hours pounding homemade wine, "entertainment" usually starts with the phrase "hey guys! Watch this!" and ends in the emergency room.